A Silent End To Belgravia
by Little Box Of Secrets
Summary: Sequel to "A Silent Night In Belgravia" After the festive season is over, the three friends start the new year with a bang, mainly on top of Mrs H's bins…
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**  
Sequel to "A Silent Night In Belgravia"

After the festive season is over, the three friends start the new year with a bang, mainly on top of Mrs H's bins…

**A Silent End To Belgravia**

**Silent Searches**

Waking up on a the first morning of the new year, Rose heard the morose sounds of a sad violin. Sighing at the thought of the seemingly depressed man who had been playing for days, she got up to have a shower, trying to think instead of a new year - a second chance perhaps - the soft sounds of the playing man lulling her awake slowly.

By the time she got out of the hot water however, towel wrapped around her, she noticed the flat was silent again. Quickly getting dressed in her usual black clothing, comfy trainers for a change, she pulled her still damp hair up into a loose bun, letting it dry naturally for once.

"Sherlock…?" She called, mind set on checking on the man upstairs, she soon found she was alone in the flat, his violin discarded in his chair, bow set beside it. _Must have been in a rush, _she thought, knowing he'd usually put it away properly. Frowning, she went to put the kettle on, making a cup of tea before going to pick up her box of cigarettes. She was about to light one when there was a knock at the door.

Sighing, she thought she could wait a little longer and went to answer the door, hoping it was a client; they could all do with a distraction right now.

It wasn't a client she found a the door though, eyes flying open at the sight before her; four suited men barged in through the door, three trying to pick her up while the last just closed the door behind them.

One of the men grabbed her, trying to pin her down, but she got in a few punches, kicking another in the side of the knee before they finally managed it, though she still fought as they dragged her up the stairs, literally kicking and screaming for her flatmates, praying Sherlock was just getting dressed in his room.

No such luck though as they grabbed the chair by the desk and threw her down in it, punching her in the face as she tried to get up again.

Feeling her lip split, she decided to take a different approach, tongue darting out to taste blood, stomach turning in response to the copper on her tongue.

"Okay, so let's talk." She tried, speaking quickly so they'd hear her. It just got her another punch to the face. Trying to shake it off, she looked up to the man punching her, control of her language forgotten at the violence she was receiving. "Have I pissed you off or something?"

The two men behind her took an arm each then, holding them back roughly, the man in front of her punching her in the gut - hard - taking the air out of her instantly.

Coughing, she spluttered out a quiet, "That's a yes then…"

The fourth man made his presence more known then, walking forward and clicking a round of bullets into place.

Rose groaned as she recognised the man, rolling her eyes in annoyance but coughing before groaning a small complaint. "Fucking Americans…"

The man just punched the other side of her face, ring cutting into her cheek. _This may be a good time to stop talking, _she thought absently, mind spinning slightly from being punched in the face so much.

The other two held her in place as the third kept watch while the leader just stood in front of her, holstering his gun and rolling up his sleeves; _doesn't mind getting his hands dirty then_, she thought. His word's contradicted his action's though. "I don't want to hurt you-"

"Then stop punching me?" She interrupted, expecting the punch her threw at her.

Dropping the façade, he demanded what he came for. "Where's the camera phone?"

"What camera phone?" She replied innocently; that got her another punch, this time closer to her eye. She could already feel the skin swelling slightly, knowing she'd have a black eye for more than a few days after this.

"Where is it?"

"Don't know what you're-" She was cut off however by a particularly hard punch to the ribs; not enough to break any, but enough to leave a wide range of pretty colours for her to find later on.

He lurched forward, getting right in her face. Snatching a handful of her hair he jerked her head backwards painfully. "Where is it?!"

She remembered Sherlock saying a while ago, if she ever did get into a sticky situation - such as this one - winding up her captors would put them off their game, make them slip up and make it generally more likely that she'd live through it.

Having just given the strange man a general agreement at the time, she also thought that if it went wrong, they'd probably just kill her sooner.

_Better be right, Sherlock…_

Hoping this really was the right approach she just taunted him further. "Piss off…"

Twisting her hair painfully, he threw he backwards, the two men holding her letting go as their boss - she assumed - pulled out his gun again, aiming it right between her eyes.

"Three." He threatened, voice tight.

"I don't know where it is." She replied seriously.

"Two!"

"I don't have it!" She implored, not backing down in her fierce eye contact with the deranged looking man, not showing any of the fear that ran through her.

"One!" He said with resolve, cocking the weapon.

"Go on then!" She taunted, her old street habits coming to her in that second, teeth bared slightly, lip curled back, welsh accent slightly more pronounced under the pressure she was under; she could die in the next second, with no back up, no Sherlock, no John and no way out what so ever.

Before he could pull the trigger however, the man at the window caught their attention. "He's here."

Pulling the barrel upwards, the American grinned, coming to stand next to her, gun trained on her temple. "No use in a dead hostage." He told her.

They only waited a few seconds before Sherlock walked in calmly, however Rose could see the fury burn in his eyes as he scanned her first before turning icy eyes on her captors.

"About bloody time…" She told him, licking her bloody lips again but he could see the gratitude in her face, swollen as it was.

Without looking from the American's he answered. "Sorry I was so long…" His tone turned darker before some final words. "But I'm here now."

The man with the gun spoke up. "I believe that you have something we want, Mr Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it?" He replied, moving forward to check the young woman over more carefully; bruised wrists, split lips, in two places, cheek was also cut, black eye, severely bruised ribs.

"I've been asking this one, she doesn't seem to know anything." The armed man answered. Sherlock then noted her top just over her ribs had several threads torn; _they've had hit her very hard to do that_, he thought, eyes travelling to the man's hand, noting the tiniest black thread caught in the detail of his ring, the blood of his assistant and friend tarnishing the otherwise shiny metal.

"But you know what I'm asking for, don't you Mr Holmes?" The man continued, turning the gun onto Sherlock.

Sherlock felt a cold, deep anger take hold of him, burning through him like a bolt of lightning, mind instantly pointing out the armed American's carotid artery, skull, eye sockets, ribs, lungs and various other arteries…

"I believe I do." Sherlock answered darkly, thinking that he was more than asking for something far different than the camera phone. Stepping back, he got to work. "First get rid of your boys."

"Why?" The gunman questioned.

"I dislike being outnumbered; it makes for too much stupid in the room." He explained to them, Rose's lips twitching in a ghost of a smile, thinking that it was generally true.

After a seconds thought, the man told his boys. "Go wait by the car."

"Then get into the car and drive away." Sherlock amended. "Don't try and trick me, you know who I am; it doesn't work."

The men took one look at their boss - who nodded slightly - before going out of the room, leaving just the three of them. Rose didn't dare to grab the gun though; she didn't want Sherlock getting shot by mistake.

"Next you can stop pointing that gun at me." Sherlock said calmly, but Rose could still hear the tension in his voice. _A little too controlled, _she thought, worried about the man.

The American didn't lower his gun though. "So you can point a gun at me?"

"I'm unarmed." Sherlock informed him, holding out his arms.

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist." Sherlock replied lightly. _Step one, get distance between the American and Rose; step two, take out the American._

Sherlock just waited as he was patted down lightly, patient until the gunman went around the back of him. Slipping a can of spray down his sleeve, he turned quickly, spraying the man in the face before head butting him sharply, knocking the man out, spinning the can in the air as the man fell back.

"Moron."

Kneeling down in front of her, Sherlock brought a hand up before realising that it was in fact Rose Spencer in front of him; not your average fragile woman. Settling for gently gripping her shoulder, her looked her deep in the eyes. "How bad did they get you?"

She just took in a deep shaky breath, wincing at her ribs, eye still swelling slightly, face aching painfully. She tried to laughing it off, a chuckle that was a bit more watery than she'd have liked escaping. Swallowing, glad it was only Sherlock there, she let her guard down a bit. "How bad you think?"

Seeing she was rather vulnerable, but not really knowing what to do here, Sherlock just tilted her face up so he could meet her eyes, seeing the tears starting to collect there. "I think you'll be just fine." He gave her a small smile, a shadow still in his eyes as he pulled a thoughtful face before adding. "After a cigarette that is."

She just laughed painfully, a tear escaping her better eye. "Need a new line there, Sherlock." She whispered, trying to ignore the state she was in.

Sherlock just wiped the droplet away with the brush of a thumb. "Hey," He said seriously, "You're safe now."

She just looked at him, a shaking hand going to cover her mouth as she closed her eyes as she nodded quickly, a few more tears escaping.

Knowing how she was with displaying emotions - Sherlock very much the same, only with the practicality of being less emotional - he gave her shoulder a squeeze before standing again, stepping back from her. "Why don't you put the kettle on?"

Not trusting herself to speak, she stood up quickly, moving to the kitchen to do as she was told. Flicking the kettle on, she leant over the sink, back to Sherlock as she quietly sobbed to herself, Sherlock setting to work in the next room, letting her have a cry in privacy.

Picking up the unconscious man, he dropped him into the chair Rose had just vacated, tying him up and adding duct tape to the man's face, not bothering with being gentle in the least, all the while planning exactly what he would do.

The man would soon learn that Sherlock Holmes was not a man to anger, certainly not when it came to his friends…


	2. Chapter 2

**A Silent End To Belgravia**

**Just how many times did he fall out of the window…?**

The sleek car bringing him back to where he started, John got out, hoping Sherlock was there, wondering what he could possibly say to the man. However as he was about to go in the door, he noticed a note stuck under the knocker, recognising the handwriting as Sherlock's.

_Crime in progress_

_Please disturb_

_Uh oh…. _He thought, expecting some other strange thing that Sherlock and Rose usually got up to when he was gone.

Taking the note with him, John hurried up the stairs, "What's going on?"

Then he saw the American looking dazed, tied to a chair. The doctor became a lot more serious then. "Jesus, what the hell is happening?" He asked.

Sherlock was in another chair, gun trained on the tied up man, phone to his ear. Still he answered his friend, voice icy with an unforgiving tone. "Rose has been attacked by an American, I'm restoring balance to the universe."

Then he saw Rose on the sofa; the woman was all sorts of colours, face swollen, eye blackened, lips tinted with the red she hadn't managed to get, though still holding a white stick of tobacco between them, the hand attached to the same stick shaking like he'd never seen before.

Rushing over to her, he sat with her immediately. "My god, Rose, are you alright?!"

Rose just nodded shakily, taking a deep drag on her cigarette. However when she tried to speak, she found her eyes welling up again slightly, voice trembling slightly as she tried to reassure her friend. "Yeh, of course. Just a bit achy."

Putting an arm around her, John glared at the tied up man. "What the hell have they done…?"

The comfort only serving to make her more emotional, she covered her face, trying her best to hide her weakness. "I'm just being silly."

"No, no…" John comforted, rubbing her back.

"Downstairs." Sherlock said to John. "Take her downstairs and look after her." Under any other circumstances, Rose may have noticed the care in his voice a bit more, but she was just so rattled.

John stood up, letting the woman go past him - still claiming she was fine - before turning to Sherlock, no point in hiding his anger about what had happened to his friend. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I expect so, now go." Sherlock replied, the look in his eyes clear; _I'll take care of this, you really don't want to be here_.

John gave the American one last glare before going off to take care of his friend. Hearing Sherlock speaking to Lestrade though, he thought he'd listen in for a second.

"Lestrade?" He started. "We've had a break in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance….no, no, no, no, we're fine, it's the burglar; got himself rather badly injured. Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull… suspected punctured lung." John just smiled sadistically at his friend's words, glad Sherlock wasn't going to let him off easy; though the next few made him worry about whether or not that was actually a good thing or not, wondering where Sherlock would actually draw the line. "He fell out of a window."

Shaking away his thoughts, he went down quickly to deal with the battered woman. John grabbed the first aid kit as he went. Finding her in her own bathroom, he knocked quietly, letting himself in, seeing her dabbing at her lip with a wet paper towel.

"Here let me do that." He offered.

Rose just got defensive though. "I can do-"

"Not an offer." He said more firmly, no room to argue.

Sighing she let him work, hissing slightly when he had to clean the cut on her cheek. At a look of concern, she just replied. "It stings…"

A few seconds later, there was a shadow across the window, a loud crash following a moment later.

"That was right on top of Mrs H's bins…" Rose said, looking slowly to John. "She wont be happy about that."

A second later they heard a muffled groan, the sound making John smile slightly; _sweet revenge…._

The Consulting Detective and the Detective Inspector just watched together as the ambulance drove away, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

Lestrade took a deep breath, wondering if he actually wanted an answer to his question. "And exactly how many times did he fall out the window…?"

"It was all a bit of a blur Detective Inspector…" Sherlock started, voice as innocent as it got with the mad man, before turning very serious, taller man staring the shorter one in the eye. "I lost count."

Lestrade just raised an eyebrow, mouth slightly agape, wondering, not for the first time, if the man before him had any limits to what he would do_. For a good reason though, I guess…I hope, _he tried to reason, though still wondering about the sanity of the man as he just slowly backed away.

John was talking to Rose, the pair of them sat at the kitchen table, when Sherlock came in. The tall man went straight to the fridge, grabbing a left over mince pie as he watched his two friends.

"Rose…"

"I'm fine John, just a little shaken." Rose tried to say. "You don't expect it in your own home."

The doctor wasn't having it though. "You're not fine, I'm not blind. Look, maybe you should take a break for a bit..." She just raised an eyebrow at this, taking a deep drag of her cigarette as he tried a new approach. "You could go stay with your brother for a bit."

Rose just coughed at the suggestion, composing herself before giving a defiant, "Hell no!" coughing again after, an arm going around her aching ribs.

"Will you listen for once?" John argued, trying another line. "Doctor's orders."

Rose looked to Sherlock, _help me,_ written clearly in her eyes. He chipped in then, telling John, "Don't be absurd."

John rounded on the other man then. "Look at her, Sherlock! Over some bloody stupid camera phone." The doctor took a breath, still worked up, not having had the chance to vent his anger like Sherlock had. "Where is it anyway?"

Sherlock just smirked. "Safest place I know."

Rose just coughed a bit more before doubling over, pulling up her trouser leg and reaching in her sock to pull out the devise where she had stashed it safely. Holding it in the air, Sherlock took it from her.

John just looked on incredulous. "Seriously?"

"Found it this morning." She told them, before turning to give Sherlock a withering look. "Taped to the underside of the lid of the sugar pot, of all places, you daft sod. Thought I'd keep it somewhere actually safe."

"Thank you." Sherlock told her, honesty ringing through his tone as he went to stand next to her, sliding the phone into his own pocket. "Shame on you, John."

John was flabbergasted though. "Shame on _me_?"

"Rose Spencer, leave Baker Street?" He put an arm around her, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "England would fall."

John and Rose just shared a strange look before the young woman voiced what they were both thinking, looking up to Sherlock with a very puzzled expression. "You're being nice…"

Sherlock just looked between the two of them before huffing and walking away, leaving behind his two friends sharing a quiet laugh to themselves.

Rose just rolled her eyes, noting the slight sting around the area as she blinked. "What's he like?"

John just smiled, but it soon slid off his features as he remembered their outing earlier. Frowning slightly, John lost himself in his thoughts as Rose sipped her tea, thinking about the Americans and what could possibly be on that phone.

Tipping the mug almost completely upside down, Rose drank the last of the now cold tea and was about to get up to wash the mug when she caught sight of John; slight crease in his forehead, jaw tense, eyes unfocused - he was worried about something and a little bit angry. Frowning at the doctor, she suspected it wasn't anything to do with the Americans either.

"John." She said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Where where you two this morning?"

John just sighed heavily, knowing he'd have to explain everything to his observant friend. "I was going to get the paper but got a little…distracted." He started, slightly avoiding the topic of the beautiful woman he'd met. _It's always the pretty ones… _"But before I could get down the street a black car pulled up."

"Mycroft." She said, assuming the same as he had.

"That's what I thought, but no." He corrected. Getting a confused frown from her, he just put it out there. "The Woman's not dead."

"The woman…" Rose whispered, the information taking a minute to sink in. When it did she gasped, the ache in her lungs playing up again causing her to cough violently, the resulting movement in her face making her head throb with the pain. Pushing that aside for the moment though, she wanted to confirm her conclusion. "Irene Adler?!"

The tired doctor just nodded. "She said she'd given something to Sherlock - the phone - but it was a mistake. She wants it back."

"Of course she does." Rose grumbled, hoping she didn't just get a beating for nothing. A thought occurred to her then. "Does Sherlock know?"

He nodded again. "He followed me…"

"Shit…" She muttered, leaning her still throbbing head in her hands.

John saw she still wasn't right though and got up, coming back with a box he placed on the table. Looking up she saw it was a box of pain killers. "Thanks." She told him, not arguing, just popping two out of the foil casing and swallowing them dry. "He's taking it well."

"Is he?" John questioned and she knew what he meant.

She just let out a tired sigh. "He's Sherlock; how will we ever know what goes on in that funny little head of his?" Picking up the box to read when she could take the next dose, she paused. _Sneaky sod. _Looking up to John she narrowed her eyes. "These aren't the non-drowsy ones."

John gave her an innocent look. "Aren't they?…Oops."

She gave a large yawn then, glaring a little more at the end. "Call yourself a doctor."

"Yep." He said, giving her a smile. He knew it was the only was she'd actually get the rest she needed; even if he did have to trick her into it. Getting up, he patted her shoulder as he went past, knowing she wasn't actually mad with him. "Get some rest."

He froze as something gently grabbed his wrist. Looking down he saw it was in fact a now rather tired Rose. "Talk to him?"

Nodding, he patted her hand slightly. "I will, don't worry."

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, John. For everything." Meaning more than just dealing with Sherlock.

"Go to bed Rose, get some rest." He just replied with a smile before turning and going to the living room to sit for a while, waiting until Sherlock came out of his room again.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Silent End To Belgravia**

**Silent Findings**

Sherlock came home, mind still running circles around the enigma that was the camera phone Irene Adler had sent him.

It had been months since finding out she was in fact alive and he still didn't know what to think about it. He knew it was a logical way out of a bad situation. _Hardly the first time anyone's faked their death, _he thought, remembering the case of Ian Monkford who relocated to Canada.

But this was different somehow.

Another mystery was why he sent that message. _Happy New Year. _He never replied to her flirtations, finding it better to simply ignore The Woman rather than play along with her. And he certainly never wished _Happy New Year _to anyone, knowing in fact it probably wouldn't be.

Seeing that he was getting no where in analysing his own actions and decoding his own thoughts, he'd tried to focus on the tangible puzzle of unlocking the camera phone he'd been left.

After x-raying it, he'd found four small additional components wired into the device. He didn't dare to try and get into the mechanics of the phone manually, knowing that to force his way in, he'd most likely burn the entire system as well as any information that was on it.

He'd carried on with his cases as usual but at night, when his flatmates were fast asleep, he'd be awake, playing and composing, always thinking of new ways to unlock the phone. He'd analysed everything he'd seen over and over, drawing new conclusions and deducing new facts from these theories. However nothing jumped out at him, nothing solid enough to give him a definitive answer to his puzzle.

It was driving him up the wall - and he loved it.

Pushing open the door at the top of the stairs however, he paused, bringing in a lung full of air through his nose. Frowning, he followed the recognisable scent into the kitchen where he found an open window. Still following his nose, he found himself going back to the hall and through to his own bedroom.

He turned the corner as he heard the front door open, two sets of foot steps on the stairs - one steady, calculated, the other softer but the weight of the owner's boots still recognisable.

"We have a client." He informed his flatmates.

"What?" John asked, tone light and teasing. "In your bedroom?"

"Here." Rose said, taking the shopping bags off him from their recent trip to Tesco.

John gave her a smile as she went to put the shopping in the kitchen and put the kettle on, the doctor himself going to see what Sherlock was on about. Turning the corner to see what his flatmate was looking at, John came to stand beside him, seeing The Woman asleep in the detective's sheets. "Oh..."

Rose - not being able to resist something unusual - just flicked the kettle on and put the bags down to put away later, wanting to see what the other two were so occupied with. "What client would be in Sherlock's…?" Having followed John, she now saw Irene Adler fast asleep, echoing John's reaction. "Oh…I'll put out another cup then, shall I?"

A few hours later when Irene came into the living room, long wavy hair let down from her previously tight bun, Sherlock's dressing gown tied around her thin waist as they all sat around; Sherlock in the client's chair, John at the table, Rose smoking on the sofa and Irene in Sherlock's usual chair.

"So who's after you?" Sherlock started.

"People who want to kill me." Irene answered, obviously careful with her words.

"And who's that?" John prompted.

Irene looked up. "Killers."

Rose snorted, but John continued trying to get a bit more out of her. "It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific."

Getting no answer from her, Sherlock pushed on. "So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them?"

"It worked for a while." She shot back.

"But you let John know you're alive." Sherlock replied just as quick. "And therefore me."

"I know you'd keep my secret." She replied, confident in her choice of confidante.

"You couldn't." Sherlock retorted.

John and Rose just looked on, watching the verbal tennis match between the genius and The Woman, wondering what their friend was thinking; Sherlock didn't take any romantic interest in anyone, man or woman, but this seemed to be the closest they'd seen to the possibility.

Irene looked at him. "But you did, didn't you? Where's my camera phone?"

"Not here." John answered when she looked at him. "We're not stupid."

Rose looked at Sherlock, trying to get some form of idea from him. Seeing him shift slightly, barely catching the shift in his icy eyes as he straightened his top. Repressing a sigh, she knew instantly that John was completely wrong.

"Well where is it?" Irene continued, agitated at her lack of phone. "If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you."

"If they've been watching me they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago." Sherlock assured her, though his assistant knew it wasn't actually relevant. She let Sherlock play it his way though, knowing the man must have some sort of plan.

"I need it." Irene told them.

John looked between the two of them. "Well, we can't just go and get it can we?" An idea struck him then. "Molly Hooper. She could collect it, bring it to Bart's. Then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back."

"Very good John." Sherlock praised, nodding at the doctor. "Excellent plan; full of intelligent precautions."

"Thank you. So, why don't I phone…" John started, but soon trailed off seeing Sherlock pull up the phone in question out of his pocket. "Oh for f-"

"John." Rose warned, interrupting the man's bad language.

"So." Sherlock carried on, ignoring the other two. "What do you keep on here? In general I mean."

Irene stood up, walking to stand in front of the mirror with her arms crossed. "Pictures, information, anything I might find useful."

"For blackmail?" John asked.

"For protection." She corrected. "I make my way in the world, I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"I should be taking notes." Rose chipped in. She knew Irene Adler was a criminal, but couldn't help but like her somehow; she matched Sherlock perfectly.

"So how do you acquire this information?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the other woman.

"I told you." Irene said with a smile. "I misbehave."

"But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection." Sherlock deduced. "Do you know what it is?"

"Yes, but I don't understand it." She admitted.

"I assumed." Was the answer she got in turn. "Show me."

She just held out her hand for the phone, not breaking eye contact with Sherlock.

He wasn't relenting though, holding the phone further away from her. "The passcode?"

She just held out her hand, steady and waiting for the phone to be in her position once more. A few seconds passed as John and Rose just watched, waiting to see which of the two stubborn people would give in first. As it turned out it was Sherlock, giving an impatient sigh and handing the small devise over.

Irene gave him a flirtatious smile, tilting the phone away from the observant man. Rose frowned before having to suppress a smirk; she was too far back and too low to see, but Sherlock, sat closer would be at the perfect angle to see in the mirror behind Irene and see what she typed in. It meant that at least if they got the phone back, they could get into it again.

A loud buzzer rang out through the room making all but Sherlock frown in confusion. "It's not working." Irene said.

Springing up into life, Sherlock walked forward to the chair Irene was sat in, explaining as he moved. "No, because it's a duplicate I had made into which you've just typed the numbers 1-0-5-8." Taking the phone off her, Sherlock missed the impressed look John had and the smirk that tugged at the younger woman's lips. However, he also missed the smug glint in The Woman's eyes as he turned away from her, lips twitching at the resounding sound from the devise; the password was wrong. The three of them frowned, eyes snapping to Irene again as she explained.

"I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand."

Eyes glaring slightly, Sherlock gave a rare compliment. "Oh, you're rather good."

"You're not so bad." Irene replied, holding out her hand.

Sherlock wasn't sure how to react to the woman in front of him, feeling his eyes glare slightly, but found the curve of his lips contradicted the action. She intrigued him, like no one had before.

"Hamish." Snapped them all out of their thoughts. "John Hamish Watson, in case you were wondering; in case you were looking for baby names." Rose gave another not-lady-like snort.

"There was a man, an MOD official, and I knew what he liked." She explained, getting back to business. "And one of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email would save the world. He didn't know it but I photographed it. He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen, can you read it?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied.

_007 Confirmed allocation_

_4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K_

"Code obviously." Irene continued. "I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it, but he was mostly upside down at the time, as I recall. He couldn't figure it out." She saw him frown slightly, mind working on the puzzle he'd been presented. _One more little push_, she thought. "Go on, impress a girl."

As though time had slowed, the numbers ran through his mind faster than ever before; numbers organising themselves on cue, letters joining their numerical counter parts, joined by relevant diagrams and pictures, the pairs fitting like jigsaw pieces, effortlessly finding their home in the grand scheme that was the mad man's mind..

"There's a margin for error, but I'm pretty sure there's a 747 leaving Heathrow tomorrow at 6:30 in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently its going to save the world, I'm not sure how that could be true, but give me a moment, I've only been at the case for eight seconds." He looked up and saw the incredulous looks they gave him; even Rose looked shocked. "Oh, come on, it's not code, these are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look!" He said, turning the phone to show John, who sat in front of him. "There's no letter "I" because it can be mistaken for a one. No letters past K, the width of the plane in the limit.

"The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence, but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place; families and couples sitting together. Only a jumbo jet is wide enough to need a letter K or rows past 55, which is why there's always an upstairs.

"There's a row 13, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number - 007 - that eliminates a few more. And assuming the British point of origin, which would be logical, considering the original source of the information and I'm assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent.

"The only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the 6:30 to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow airport." He finished, standing to his full, proud height at his work, looking their guest in the eye as he bragged. "Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing; John has expressed that thought in every possible variant available to the English language."

Irene just twitched an eyebrow at the slight challenge. She looked him dead in the eye and said with a straight face and a serious tone, "I would have you right here on this table until you begged for mercy twice."

Sherlock blinked, not expecting the response from her. Not quite knowing how to respond to her comment - as was occurring far to frequently around the dominating woman - he simply addressed his friend instead, not breaking eye contact with the woman in front of him. "John. Please can you check those flight schedules, see if I'm right?"

"Yeah…" John replied, slightly dazed at the showdown in front of him; _was it a challenge or dirty, intelligent flirting_? Hearing Rose clear her throat - and catching her raised eyebrow - he tried to put together a better reply. "I'm on it, yeah."

"I've never begged for mercy in my life." Sherlock told Irene, having composed his thoughts a bit more.

"Twice." She implored.

"Yeah, you're right." John interrupted again. "Flight double oh seven."

Sherlock got that look again though; the one that said the proverbial penny had just dropped and something had clicked into place. "What did you say?"

"You're right." John replied.

"No, no." Sherlock disregarded. "After that. What did you say after that?"

"Double oh seven." John said, looking to the screen again. "Flight double oh seven."

"Double oh seven." Sherlock repeated, over and over. He walked past them all to the middle of the room. Turning, he remembered a figure in the doorway; he was on the phone, saying something very relevant - he couldn't quite get to it though. "Something...what?"

"Double oh seven." Rose chipped in. "James Bond, double oh seven?"

_There! _He thought, seeing clearly now; his brother, Mycroft, on the phone - _Bond air is go…Bond air is go…_

Taking advantage of his teetering epiphany, and the distraction he was causing to his flatmates, The Woman texted quickly, carefully keeping the phone just behind her leg - out of sight of the men and not hidden enough that the other woman would notice.

_747 TOMORROW 6:30 HEATHROW_

Moments later, a man in the streets of London got the message, the screen of his mobile phone tinted by the dark shades that hid his eyes. Smirking slightly, he typed a new message.

_Jumbo jet. Dear me, Mr Holmes, dear me._

On receiving the text, Mr Mycroft Holmes quickly sat in the closest chair, immediately thinking about anything that could be done. At some point, he had gotten a strong drink, but as day turned to dusk, his glass held no drink, and his mind held no solution; the entire project was lost.

Now he had to salvage what he could, but first, he'd have to teach his little brother a lesson.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Silent End To Belgravia**

**Silent Dinner**

Pluck.

_Bond air is go__…_

Pluck.

…_that__'__s decided…_

Pluck.

…_Check with the Coventry lot_…

The genius sat in his usual chair, the warmth of the fire melding with the melodic notes of his violin as he absently plucked the strings; a soothing balm to his racing thoughts, the cogs of his mind turning almost franticly in their search for an answer to his puzzle.

"Coventry." He voiced, hoping to bounce his thoughts off one of his more average minded flatmates. However as he came back to the world outside his mind, he saw it was neither John nor Rose that sat in front of him.

"I've never been." The Woman replied having curled up on John's chair, arms wrapped around the cushion that usually sat there. "Is it nice?"

"Where's John?" He asked, wary at her presence; even more so for having not noticed her.

"He went out." Irene answered. "Rose too, a couple of hours ago."

"I was just talking to him." Sherlock stated and Irene, like a fair few others wondered how the man who saw everything could sometimes be so blind.

"He said you do that. What's Coventry got to do with anything?" She asked, wondering what he meant by his words.

He sighed, putting his violin to the side. "It's a story; probably not true. In the second world war, the allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they'd broken the German code, but they didn't want the Germans to know they'd broken the code so the let it happen anyway."

Irene just looked at him, wondering how someone could be so…she didn't even know how to describe him; he was cold and inhuman, yet brilliantly clever and not shy about it. He was handsome - there was no denying it - and even had a certain charm about him. He was one of the few to treat her like she was more than just an object; more than what she was. "Have you ever had anyone?"

Her sudden question threw him though. "I'm sorry?"

Knowing her field well, she elaborated. "And when I say _had_, I'm being indelicate."

"I don't understand." He stated, though he was quite sure what she was implying.

"I'll be delicate then." She replied, playing the game. Uncurling herself from the chair, she knelt before him, placing a delicate hand on top of his own, now free from the instrument it was plucking not so long ago. "Let's have dinner."

"Why?" He questioned, giving her hand a brief glance.

"You might be hungry." She answered innocently, though they both knew she was far from it.

"I'm not." He shot back.

She smiled, eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Good."

Turning his captured hand, he held her delicate wrist. Leaning forward, he kept eye contact with the woman in front of him, face inches from hers. "Why would I want to have dinner…If I wasn't hungry?"

Her smile dropped though the game was still in her eyes. "Mr Holmes…if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night…you would have dinner with me?"

"Sherlock!" Came a shout from downstairs, the thudding of steel toe capped boots coming up the stairs.

"Too late..." Irene whispered, leaning back slightly at the interruption.

"That's not the end of the world." Sherlock told her. "That's my assistant." He watched as she pulled back properly, going to the kitchen as Rose came in the living room - hiding from who ever Rose brought with her.

"Sherlock, these gentleman were at the door." Rose informed him, crossing her arms. "You really should start answering the door you know."

"Didn't hear the doorbell." He argued, turning away from the kitchen giving her a steely eye.

"That's because you shot it." Rose replied.

Sherlock saw the suited man walk in, recognising him as the one who came to take him to the palace. "Have you come to take me away - again?"

"Yes, Mr Holmes." The man replied.

"Well I decline." Sherlock retorted with sass, earning an eye roll from his flatmate.

The man reached into the inside of his suit jacket, producing an envelope. "I don't think you do." He replied, handing the seated man the envelope.

Rose frowned, wondering what it could be. Sherlock snatched it and ripped open the seal and pulled out two flight tickets.

_Sherlock Holmes_

_Baltimore - 6:30_

A look of understanding came across his face and Rose knew it was something important. He let out a huff before jumping up and grabbing his coat and scarf and proceeding to go out the door. "Coming?" He called to Rose, who was already about to follow after the suited man.

"Of course." She replied.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Silent End To Belgravia**

**A Silent Flight**

Sat in the back of yet another, sleek black car, Rose sat next to her boss and friend, phone out as she typed a text to John.

_On our way to flight 007_

_Meet us there? Will _

_explain properly later._

_RS_

Ignoring her, Sherlock simply complained. "There's going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American governments know about it, but rather than expose the source of their information their going to let it happen."

"The plane will blow up anyway?" Rose asked, putting her phone away, a frown creasing her forehead.

"Coventry all over again." Sherlock replied in a dark voice. "The wheel turns, nothing is ever new."

Rose didn't bother asked what Coventry was, assuming it was a similar case. _How could they let all those people die? _She thought, knowing that who ever was on the scene of the wreckage would have to find bodies or they wouldn't believe the whole story.

The rest of the car ride was silent, Sherlock thinking only god knows what as Rose thought about the families, slightly queasy at the thought that someone could be in charge of that decision.

As the car pulled up on the run way, they both got out, heading towards the steps of the flying craft. They saw the American man who had beaten her so much before and she held herself a little straighter at the sight of the man.

Sherlock however decided to taunt him, a very bad American accent colouring his words. "Well, you're looking all better. How are you feelin'?"

"Like putting a bullet in your brain, sir." Was the tired reply he got in return. They both knew he wouldn't dare to make a move like that out here though. Sherlock scoffed and headed for the stairs, Rose following closely behind. The American wasn't finished though. "They'd pin a medal on me if I did_, sir_."

Sherlock paused, turning the man's words over in his mind when something else caught his attention; a faint smell from the plane. Frowning slightly he altered his original plan. "Rose, would you mind staying out here?" _She doesn't need to see the inside_, he thought, unusually thoughtful to his friend.

Assuming he had a good reason for her lack of person on the plane, she sighed at having to stay with the American. "Course not." She answered, turning to head back down the steps, plans on leaning against the car they'd arrived in while waiting for Sherlock to come back again.

Pulling her open coat closed, she had just finished doing up the last button when he phone alerted her to a text from John.

_On my way, wont be long._

It wasn't five minuets later that Rose saw another car pull up, however she was surprised to see that it wasn't John who got out of the car, but Irene.

"Irene?" Rose frowned again. "What are you doing here?" Irene just ignored her, heading towards the steps. Before the American could stop her though, Rose grabbed her bare arm first. "Hey, you can't go in there."

Irene span and grabbed the wrist that held her in place, prying the fingers off of her. "If you want to play rough, it will have to be another time, dear. Right now, I'm here to see Mr Holmes." With that she turned once more and proceeded towards the steps.

The American stood down - to Rose's great surprise - when the Detective's assistant nodded her consent to The Woman's boarding. However, Rose wasn't fool enough to let Irene go alone and followed close behind, hearing the voices of two brothers on the craft.

"Absurd?" Mycroft was saying. "How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute? Or were you really eager to impress?"

"I think it was less than five seconds." Irene spoke up, letting the two men know of their presence.

"Sorry, Sherlock." Rose said quietly, though trailing off slightly at the sight around her; so many dead. _Oh god… _They were in every seat, pale and so lifeless. _No one dies_, noted a small voice in the back of her shocked mind, _because everyone's already dead._

"And I drove you into her path." Mycroft continued, apologising. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Rose looked up at the sadness in his tone, finding it's placement was wrong from the words of a Holmes. She ignored the bodies for now, deciding to deal with it later; the living were more concerning right now.

"Mr Holmes, I think we need to talk." Irene said, voice all business - laced with it's usual seductiveness - as she moved forward.

"So do I." Sherlock replied. "There are still some things I'm still not quite clear-"

She cut him off though, not even sparing him a glace as she strode right past him to stand in front of Mycroft. "Not you, junior, you're done now." She held up the phone they hadn't gotten round to retrieving again. "There's more, loads more. On this phone I've got secrets and pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."

Mycroft looked a little frustrated at apparently having masters but they all caught the glimmer of fear in his eyes as he looked away; Sherlock was always a weakness in him.

Sherlock himself was quiet; too quiet for Rose's liking. He'd ruined the plans for the aeroplane apparently, played right into Irene's hands and no was cast aside like a used pawn. He didn't quite know what he felt to that - possibly guilt, sadness, he didn't know - resorting to simply shutting his feelings away and concentrating on the here and now.

"Shall we move to a more…comfortable arrangement?" Irene asked, knowing she was in complete control of the situation.

Rose took another breath, the smell of the dead stronger with every breath she took. "I think that's a good idea."

"Indeed." Mycroft agreed, voice like ice in the face of the predicament he found himself in. Holding up a hand, he indicated for Rose to lead the way out, pushing aside her presence completely; he needed his full concentration to try and work this out.

Leading them all out, Rose saw yet another car pull up, the door opening as John climbed out just in time to see them all leaving the plane.

"Get back in the car, John." Rose said as she joined him, Irene going back to the car she arrived in as the Holmes brothers made their way to the first car. "I'll explain on the way."

Getting into the cab again, John just frowned. "I've missed a bit haven't I?"

"Yeah." Rose agreed before leaning forward to speak to the driver. "Follow that car there please?" She asked, leaning back when the driver agreed. "The plane wont fly." She started to explain, thinking it all over, trying got put some sense to the nights events. "Ever; the whole program's been shut down. Irene's now blackmailing Mycroft for something."

John frowned, wondering how on earth anyone could blackmail the powerful man. "How?"

Rose turned a tired look to the doctor. "She has the phone."

John let out a heavy sigh. "Of course she does."


	6. Chapter 6

**A Silent End To Belgravia**

**Silent Negotiations**

The car ride was short but silent as Rose simply watched the buildings pass by, trying to get the sight of the passengers out of her mind. Finally the car rolled to a stop and the quickly got out - Rose throwing down several notes for the driver - following the Holmes brothers into the tall, expensive looking building, Irene Adler slipping to walk between them all, stride confident as she held her head high.

Mycroft lead them into a large room, expensive, dark wood table at one end with matching chairs surrounding it. An arm chair sat facing away from it and a few chairs lined the wall by the door. Mycroft held the door for them all, Sherlock taking the arm chair as Irene chose a chair at the end of the table, placing her handbag on the table in front of her. John took a chair by the wall as Rose - who exchanged a flicker of a glance with Mycroft - took the seat next to the good doctor. Mycroft himself sat opposite The Woman.

Irene took out the camera phone and placed it on the table between herself and the older Holmes, who took the device, inspecting it as he turned it in his hand. Pressing a button, he saw it required a password.

He let out a sigh, putting it back on the table between them. Indicating to the device, he told her, "We have people who can get into this."

"I tested that theory for you." She countered. "I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months. Sherlock dear, tell him what you found when you x-rayed my phone."

Sherlock pushed past his failings, explaining the requested information to them. "There are four additional units wired inside the casing. I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive. Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."

"Explosive." Irene confirmed. "It's more me."

"Some data is always recoverable." Mycroft told her.

She nodded. "Take that risk."

He looked to the phone again. "You have a pass code to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."

His words sent a chill up the spines of the doctor and the assistant; they didn't hear any regret in his tone. Rose knew he was powerful and what it meant to be a Holmes, but somehow she hadn't thought he would be so…cold.

Irene looked tired though. "Sherlock?"

"There will be two passwords." Sherlock explained on cue. "One to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress, you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt."

"He's good isn't he?" The Woman complimented. "I should have him on a leash. In fact, I might."

"We destroy this then." Mycroft countered, ignoring the implied meaning behind the dominatrix's words about his little brother. "No one has the information."

"Fine. Good idea." Irene agreed, nodding. "Unless there are lives of British citizens that depend on the information you're about to burn."

"Are there?" Mycroft asked.

She pulled a face. "Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore." She opened her handbag then, producing a letter, sliding it across the table to the man in front of her. "A list of my requests. And some ideas about my protection once they're granted. I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a whole in the wealth of a nation… but then I'd be lying."

Rose turned to John, seeing he was still watching the events unfold in front of him. Turning back, she saw Mycroft's eyes widen - the closest she'd seen to shock on his features - as he read the request.

"I imagine you'd like to sleep on it?" Irene asked, an understanding look on her painted features.

Mycroft didn't look up. "Yes, thank you."

"Too bad." That made him look up as his little brother closed his eyes in defeat, the two on lookers wondering what was going to happen, trying to think of anything they could do to turn the tables on The Woman. "Off you pop and talk to people."

Mycroft let out a heavy sigh, sitting back in his chair, the letter still in his hands. "You've been very… thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you."

"I can't take all the credit. I had a bit of help." She answered, turning to call to Sherlock. "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love."

Sherlock let out a sigh then, echoing his big brother as his two flatmates looked at each other in worry, Rose turning a shade paler at the memory of their last encounter with the insane criminal.

"Yes, he's been in touch." Mycroft replied. "Seems desperate for my attention, which I'm sure can be arranged." Rose didn't miss the darker tone his voice took at his last few words, doubt starting to creep into her mind about who Mycroft Holmes really was.

"I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it." Irene told them, standing up, heels clicking on the floor as she perched on the end of the table, taller than them all now she was standing. "Thank god for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advise about how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you?" She taunted. "The Iceman….and the virgin." Neither man blinked at the names, both very used to being called names by their peers over the years. "Didn't even ask for anything, I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that's my kind of man." Rose and John didn't miss the slight defeat that crept through their friend's posture at The Woman's words.

"And here you are." Mycroft said, trying to hide the touch of pride he felt at such an opponent. "The dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played." He turned to head out of another door, the letter folded in his hands as he went to talk to other government officials. He froze though at the word that rang out through the room.

"No."

"Sorry?" Irene questioned.

"I said no." Sherlock repeated, turning away form his flatmates and toward his brother and the criminal woman; but not before Rose caught a flicker of that familiar glint in his cold eyes, the sudden gloating confidence in his posture - he was on to something. Standing up to face them, he continued. "Very, very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate, you were enjoying yourself too much."

"No such thing as too much." Irene corrected, eyes the only thing betraying her sudden defensiveness for the approaching man.

"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine." Sherlock replied, gaze, flickering to his brother in a silent taunt, but carried on with the job at hand. "Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathise entirely, but _sentiment_?" His words made them all frown slightly. "Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."

"Sentiment?" Irene repeated, not understanding. "What are you talking about?"

"You." Sherlock retorted, confident in his theory.

Her eyes widened, shock clear on her features, pity lacing itself along with it. "Oh, dear god…look at the poor man. You don't actually believe I was interested in you?" Sherlock held a steady gaze though, not breaking the eye contact he suspected was making her fight back a little more. "Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"

"No." He replied, moving in closer to her, reaching out to hold her wrist, leaning in to whisper - though they could all still hear quite clearing in the silent room - right into her ear, inches away from her. "Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated." He released her, reaching behind her to pick up the phone on the table, every set of eyes on him; though two sets were discreetly aware of the other in their peripheral vision, both taking in what Sherlock was saying."I imagine my flatmates think love is a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive."

Walking to the centre of the room he turned, Irene having following a few steps behind. "When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self portrait; how true of you. The combination to your safe; your measurements. But this…" He said, flipping the phone in the air, starting to type in whatever he thought the pass word was; it was his last chance. "This is far more intimate. This is your heart, and you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for. But you just couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof."

A hand shot up then, holding the wrist closely attached to the phone. "Everything I said, it's not real; I was just playing the game."

"I know." Sherlock replied, understanding in his features. "And this is just losing." He was glad to not hear the infernal buzzer, meaning it was the right pass word. He handed the unlocked phone to Mycroft. "There you are brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight."

"I'm certain they will." Mycroft replied, relief obvious to anyone who could observe properly.

"If you're feeling kind lock her up." Sherlock told him, turning away from The Woman and the tears falling down her face. "Otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her _protection_."

"Are you expecting me to beg?" Irene asked, desperation clear in her voice.

"Yes." Sherlock replied, not missing a beat, but pausing in his stride.

She took a shaky breath, trying to fight the tears that were welling up quickly. "Please…you're right. I wont even last six months."

He turned to look at her, eyes cold as they took her in. "Sorry about dinner."

She watched him leave, not noticing the other two follow him out. Mycroft however did notice the look Rose Spence gave him, wondering - for how many times, he'd lost count - what she was thinking.

However, simply, she was thinking that she had a lot to think about; both about the case, and the suited man, to which she'd seen a new side of.

And she didn't quite know what to make of it.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Silent End To Belgravia**

**A Not So Silent End**

It was a rainy, gloomy day over London as a man stood in front of a café under his umbrella.

Mycroft brought the white stick to his lips - a Mayfair menthol - taking a deep breath through the minty tobacco, wondering why on earth Rose would smoke the things.

"You don't smoke." He heard, John's voice pulling him out of his thoughts. Turning, he saw the good doctor rather drenched and a little bit tired.

"I also don't frequent cafes." He added, dropping the cigarette into the rain and stubbing it out. Picking up his case, he spoke as he collapsed his umbrella. "Shall we?"

John followed him in, going to the counter as Mycroft sat down, pulling out a plastic file as John ordered them a couple of drinks. Bringing them over, he sat down, waiting for Mycroft to start.

After a few seconds, John spoke up instead. "That's the file on Irene Adler?"

"Closed forever." The suited man confirmed, looking rather out of place in the greasy spoon. "I am about to go and inform my brother, or, if you prefer, _you_ are, that she somehow got herself into a witness protection scheme in America; new name, new identity. She will survive, and thrive, but he will never see her again."

"Why would he care?" John questioned, putting down his mug. "He despised her in the end; wont even mention her by name, just The Woman."

"Is that loathing? Or a salute?" Mycroft retorted, seeing another side to his brothers mind. "One of a kind, the one woman who matters?" It was also becoming a far too frequent habit that he was pushing another woman out of his own mind. _Such a distraction_, he thought vaguely.

John frowned though, shaking his head. "He's not like that. He doesn't feel thing that way. I don't think…"

Mycroft took in a deep breath, thinking about the strangeness of the creature he called a sibling. "My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?"

"I don't know." John answered, lost at the question.

"Neither do I." Mycroft admitted, remembering their childhood together. "But initially he wanted to be a pirate." _God help us all if that had occurred, _he thought.

John nodded slightly, imagining that the new information sounded actually completely normal; he could easily see a younger Sherlock, running around, creating different false beards and eye patches, threatening Mycroft with a sword. Seeing Mycroft had started to get lost in his thoughts though, he pulled the man back, used to the routine with the other Holmes. "He'll be okay with this - witness protection - never seeing her again. He'll be fine."

"I agree." Mycroft said, looking up to meet John's eye. "That's why I've decided to tell him that."

"Instead of what?" John asked suspiciously, wondering about the true situation.

"She's dead." He told the doctor, not bothering to skip around the facts. "She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded."

_Shit_, John thought. Clearing his throat, he asked a necessary question. "It was definitely her? She's done this before." _Though I don't know how you can fake a beheading_.

"I was thorough this time." Mycroft replied dryly, not liking to have been fooled the once; he certainly wasn't going to let it happen again. "It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don't think he was on hand, do you?" He pushed the plastic folder forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his interlocked fingers. "So…what shall we tell Sherlock?"

Hearing the approaching footsteps on the stairs Sherlock spoke up from his seat in the kitchen, not looking up from his microscope. "Clearly you've got news. If its about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Did no on notice the earring?"

"Hi, um, no, it's uhm…" John started, a little thrown at the sudden deduction, not really knowing where to start. "It's about Irene Adler."

Sherlock looked up at that. "Well?" Getting no response, he pushed further. "Has something happened? Has she come back?"

"No, no, she's…"John started, trying to sound as believable as he could to the human lie detector. "I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs, he had to take a call."

"Is she back in London?" Sherlock asked, trying to push through to what John actually had to say. He got up from his work station to stand in front of his friend, giving him his full attention.

"No. She's um…." John started, pausing slightly before carrying on. "She's in America."

"America?" Sherlock questioned, a frown on his features.

"Mh hmm." John hummed in agreement. "Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. I don't know how she sung it, but...uh... Well, you know…"

"I know what?" Sherlock frowned, trying to see what he should be getting here.

"Well, you wont be able to see her again." John explained.

Sherlock frowned at his friend. "Why would I want to see her again?"

"Didn't say you did." John replied, trying to hide a smile.

"Is that her file?" Sherlock asked, going back to the table and his microscope.

"Yes, I was just going to take it back to Mycroft." John said, turning to the doorway again, holding the file up. "Do you want to-"

"No." Sherlock said, cutting him off.

John hummed slightly, watching his friend. He didn't know whether he should say something or just go back down to Mycroft again. After a few seconds he thought he should say something. "Listen, umm-"

"No, but I will have the camera phone though." Sherlock said, cutting him off again and holding out his hand.

John frowned, looking to the folder, seeing the item tucked away inside. "There's nothing on it any more. It's been stripped."

"I know, but I…" Sherlock started, trying to explain without saying anything. He just held his hand out a bit further. "I'll still have it."

"I've got to give this back to Mycroft, you can't keep it." John said, shaking his head. The hand stayed steady though. "Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft, it's the government's now. I couldn't…"

"Please?" Sherlock asked, hand moving forward even more, reaching out.

John felt like he was fighting a loosing battle; he knew he couldn't say no to the man, not this time. He sighed in defeat, hanging his head slightly before reaching into the folder and pulling out the phone, proceeding to place it in his friend's outstretched hand.

Fingers closing around the requested camera phone, Sherlock pocketed the devise, all the while not taking his eyes off the microscope. "Thank you."

"I'd better take this back." John said, inching towards the door.

"Yes." Sherlock agreed.

However John turned, got to the hallway and paused for a few seconds before turning back to face his friend. "Did she ever text you again after all that?"

"Once." Sherlock answered. "A few months ago."

John nodded, curiosity getting the better of him. "What did she say?"

Sherlock didn't look up again, as he had - or rather hadn't - done the entire time. "Good bye, Mr Holmes."

"Oh…" John said softly, catching his thoughts before they escaped. _Oh god... The time lines match up_, he thought, realising that that text message was probably the last communication she ever had with anyone. After a few seconds he decided he'd better leave things alone now, turning to go and give Mycroft the folder back.

Sherlock however, not having actually paid any attention to what was at the end of his microscope, looked up to see his friend leave.

Getting up again, he left the kitchen, going to stand by the rainy window, looking through all the messages on the phone, scrolling to the very last one, remembering when he received it.

_When I say run, run!_

He felt a familiar smile tug at his lips, letting it slip onto his features, a low chuckle escaping from his throat as he span the phone in the air. "The Woman…_The_ Woman."

Slipping the phone into a draw in the desk, he was pulled out of his thoughts by a single word.

"Sentiment." She said.

Whirling around, Sherlock saw none other than Rose Spencer on the sofa, feet pulled up as she leant on the arm rest, cigarette in one hand as she blew out a large puff of smoke up into the air. Of course she'd heard everything John had said as well as Sherlock's own mutterings to himself.

She gave him a knowing look. "Sentiment gets us all in the end."

He just brought down his familiar mask, hiding behind ice as he threw stolen words at her. "Caring is not an advantage."

She just smirked. "Yet we all care about something." She argued lightly, taking another puff on her cigarette.

Sherlock frowned in thought, realising she was right but not wanting to admit it. Settling for his usual response to the younger woman, he threw her an icy glare before heading back to his experiment. Both of them knew there was no anger or sadness behind the glare though.

Rose just smiled slightly at the man, even though he couldn't see it. Taking a final puff on her cigarette, she stubbed it out and folded her arms on the arm rest, laying her head down and closing her eyes; not sleeping, but simply letting her mind roam free for a while, getting all the thoughts she'd tucked away truly dealt with.

After all, with all she had seen and heard, experienced and learnt, there was always something to think about.


End file.
